Reading

I just finished reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows for the second time.  Kinda.

I didn't remember much of how the story went from the first time I'd read it, see.

Sometimes, mostly when a book is really exciting to me and I can't wait to find out what happens, I'll skim a book more than I'll actually read it.  Like, I'm reading along and things are getting heated and there's lots of dueling and shit's blowing up and...my eyes wander over to the next page and give it a quick skim to see if someone's about to die, and THERE IT IS!!!! THERE'S THE WORD BODY!!! OMG!! and so I have to read that chapter to get the context, but then I have to back up and read what happened before that because now Fred's dead and    I have no idea how we got here and    what happened and   where was I a minute ago       I should just let the author tell the story in her own time...

So yeah.  I miss things sometimes.  And let's face it, when you're reading like that, and reading that fast, how much can you really be retaining?  

But that doesn't happen with every book.  I mean, I read parts of every book I pick up in that manner, but most books I haven't anticipated the release of for months and then stood in line for an hour or two at midnight to get one of the first copies and then gone home to devour as quickly as possible within the next 24 hours.  Most books get only a little skimming, like when sex between characters seems imminent and I want to see if my hunch is right or if the author is being a tease again.   

But still, even with my horrible reading habits that often result in missing key minor details, reading is one of my favorite things ever.  If I had to make a list of things I wouldn't want to lose the ability to do, reading would be on the same list with loving, having sex, sleeping, and eating.

I love being immersed in the visions of others.  I love journeying along the paths of characters both fictional and real.  I love the inevitable dreams that result for days after hours of reading a particularly enthralling story.  

I love the color that reading brings to my world.  I love the look of the spines of the books lined up in the bookcases; the whites and blues and yellows and greens and oranges and reds and blacks and golds.  Their presence makes the room feel warmer, more inviting, more comfortable.  

My love for reading makes me feel sorry for non-readers.  If they can't read, I feel sorry for them and feel that they're missing out on something wonderful and this is an oversight that must not stand and must be rectified posthaste.  If they just don't read, I just don't get it.  I feel sorry for them and wish that I could show them the magic that I see in words.  It's like they're missing out on a treasure.  I try to give them books that I know are awesome and that they'll love and they're all, "I'll try to read it, I promise."  (I'm talking to you, Kim.)

Okay, I'll get it eventually.  Things that are important to me aren't necessarily AS important to everyone else.  

But they really should be.  

(IT'S NOT ALL ABOUT YOU, NATALIE.)

OKAY.  GOSH.  

But yeah, reading is cool.